


The Cracked Foundations: The Rewards of Faith

by AmerValk



Series: The Cracked Foundations [3]
Category: Magic: The Gathering
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-02-17 02:27:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13067205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmerValk/pseuds/AmerValk
Summary: The final book in the The Cracked Foundations Series.Sorin has accustomed himself with the vampire population of Innistrad in an attempt to secure his legacy and rebuild Innistrad. While protecting his Progeny, Joanna, and battling Olivia for predominance in Stensia.I want to thank my loyal readers and anyone who has enjoyed the other books. I expect this to be between 7-8 chapters long.





	1. Your Obedient Servant

Chapter One: Your Obedient Servant

It was pride that changed angels into devils; it is humility that makes men as angels.  
Saint Augustine

Stensia was held in suspended terror by whispers of an alliance between Olivia Voldaren, Lord of Innistrad and the Markov Pariah. The elder vampire’s presence alone was sufficient to destabilize the region, but rumors of a more sinister relationship persisted. Some said that he held her prisoner, helpless and behold to his whims. The Lord of Innistrad had been seduced and overthrown. She ruled in name only. Others believed she’d found a way to bind Sorin into her service, holding the outcast at bay with some ancient magical leash. The truth was far less interesting. Sorin found that he enjoyed Olivia’s company and the deadly dance between them. There was a sense of sadistic pleasure in his newfound grace, for he had only been elevated through her favor.

‘Is that clove?’ Sorin wondered, sipping from a chalice. His palate was quite discerning but Olivia always excelled at crafting the best vintages. He observed his enemy and lover, as she styled her long crimson hair. She painted a regal picture, setting a golden necklace against the pale skin of her neck and strangely, he found himself lingering on ancient memories. Cold tile floors and secretive meetings beneath the moonlight. But those were simpler times that Sorin could not afford to remember. The change had altered whatever the two could have shared, and now they were rivals. ‘As my grandfather intended,’ Sorin considered. His extended stay at court was becoming perplexing, even to him. He drew a claw along a mantle carved of marble as the firelight flickered.

“What’s on your mind?” Olivia inquired, curious at his drifting expression. Sorin was stirred from a quiet reverie. Her eyes were piercing and Sorin remembered when her eyes were soft brown. Her mouth quirked into a inquisitive smile and he recalled how she cried out when she climaxed beneath his tongue. He could even recall how she tasted. His expression was more than distant. Olivia recognized a distinct longing in his expression as his gaze settled on her.

“You’ve added clove to this blood, and is that citrus?” Sorin considered, his thoughts elsewhere. Olivia attempted to read him, but as soon as she saw the nearly tender look in his eye, it was concealed again. She found herself perplexed and tried to place why the bizarre expression seemed so familiar.

“Yes, I think?” Olivia rose from her seat and was at Sorin’s side. She investigated him carefully. He had always looked young, but the eyes gave away his age. They were burdened with ancient knowledge and supernatural expectation. Deep within, there was something she almost observed, but he obscured it. “I must confess, I have so many different recipes it’s difficult to recall them precisely.” Without asking, she lifted the chalice from the mantle and drank from it. Thoughtfully, she considered the ingredients and raised the corner of her lips, “It is clove and citrus. A personal favorite of mine.” For a moment, Sorin saw Olivia as she was years ago. Her eyes wide and expression innocently thoughtful. Her long lashes fluttered as she caught him staring intently. “See something you like?” Olivia asked, noting a softness in his eyes.

“Yes,” he whispered. He tilted her head upwards, lifting her chin with the tips of his fingers. Sorin had kissed Olivia before, many times, but this seemed different as the fire cracked behind them. The orange flames danced as he pulled Olivia to him and brushed his lips against hers. They were soft and tasted like citrus and spice. She was breathless while his hands cupped her face and he held her hostage. Her fingers curled, the tips just touching the smooth linen of his shirt. Then, Sorin released her, admiring her bewildered expression. It was only briefly before she became the Lord of Innistrad again and narrowed her eyes. She ignored the intense pang in her stomach, and the hunger for more of his touch.

“You are too bold, Sorin,” her expression was stern. “You’re dismissed,” Olivia commanded. Her voice was cold and indifferent as she took a step away from him. He hesitated at first before smiling,

“As you wish, my lord.” He bowed perfectly before turning on his heel. The coat whipped behind him as he strode out of her chambers. Sorin used to sneak through the back corridors but rather liked the looks of astonishment he received as he departed her chambers.

Boldness came naturally to Sorin Markov. One was not an ancient elder vampire and planeswalker with quiet simplicity. His steps had always been driven with purpose, even now as he enjoyed respite from the centuries of toil and conflict. He had walked among elder dragons, fought an old walker and friend, and created a goddess. For once, Sorin wanted to merely exist and the excessive court of Olivia Voldaren was an ideal playground. Even though he felt trapped by Innistrad in the past, it was only natural after enjoying the unfettered freedom of walking the planes. However, this was home and he found a vestigial comfort to life at court. Sorin had almost forgotten what it was like to be a vampire or how much he enjoyed the machinations of the game. It was an interconnected web of favors, betrayal and seductions. Also, he found the way the lesser vampires sneered at him through wide smiles and pretend familiarity an indulgence. No one here was his equal, but they did not need to be. To see the lies behind their affection and the fear that they attempted to bury provided its own satisfaction. 

His progeny, on the other hand, found herself increasingly frustrated. While her sire paraded himself as the image of refinement, she needed to be increasingly guarded. She acknowledged her own growth. Sorin had raised a peasant, covered in dirt and in her place, she blossomed into a true patrician, but that was only part of it. Elongated fangs marked her transformation, as did porcelain skin and a rich auburn hair. Though the true mark of her heritage was a subtle psychic ability. It would take years to fully develop, Sorin knew, but she was the first progeny of the Markov line to exhibit the traits in hundreds of years. As a result, she was kept under guard and he hoarded her as if she was a prized possession The man that had once revealed himself as a caring and empathetic father looked ever more like her jailer.

“At least I have Victoria,” she sighed, lifting her head from a book. Gracefully, she shut the book and rose from her chair. Joanna saw no need to be fully dressed that evening and wore a simple robe of crushed silk the color of cream and ivory. The artificial light almost reminded her of daylight as she paced in her room. Since Sorin’s elevation they lived in far more comfort, even though she shared a parlour with him. Her long auburn hair rested just above her waist and was loose against her back. Her head turned to where she heard a small knock. It was one of the hidden passages. Her heart leapt as she pulled aside the curtain to reveal small door. Joanna grinned as Victoria emerged from the corridor. 

“Did you like the book I found you? I hope it’s not too frilly. I know you are being educated into a proper vampire,” she teased, mocking Sorin’s deep and serious voice. Seeing Joanna’s face erupt into bright laugher was her favorite thing to do. Especially at the expense of her maker. 

“I did enjoy it,” she said between giggles and stared at the cover longingly. “Though does the human stay with the vampire, in the end? Even though he might kill her?” Her voice was animated and vivid as she thought to the tragic heroine, who found herself drowning in a world she did not understand. 

“I guess you’ll need to read more, silly,” Victoria retorted, “I’ve already read the books, trash that they are. They are all the rage at court, a few of them are even taking pet humans but they don’t survive very long.” She couldn't help but be amused at how the trend grew as if overnight. “Are you holding up, okay? I know your training is strict.” A small blush crossed Joanna’s cheeks as she nodded, though her words were far different,

“He says that I am improving and much stronger, but he is not lenient. Sorin says that others will seek to exploit me and I must be above them. That I am better than they are because I am his progeny.” Victoria concealed her disgust entirely at how Sorin elected to raise his progeny. She did not get the chance to smile enough and her isolation was a prison. Too often, she looked forlorn, when she was most beautiful with a delighted expression. 

In all honesty, Victoria was concerned as she watched something in Joanna diminish. Still, she would not abandon her friend to Sorin’s whims. There was something vibrant and lovely in her expression, and she had no desire to see her become yet another Markov Patrician, or worse an elitist tyrant, like her maker. “What do you think Victoria? Do you think he’s right?” Joanna asked, her voice cracked. “I can’t let him down,” she stated. Her mistress may have had ulterior motives, but Victoria’s intentions were pure. Her eyes narrowed as she discerned Sorin’s approach. He was more than a mere danger, he was a true threat to the stability of court, even if Olivia thought she contained him, how long could she amuse the elder? The part of her that sought to defend her mistress and Joanna demanded she remain behind and defy him, but then she observed the anxious expression on the young vampire's features.

“You should leave. Please,” she begged, her features both frightened and distant. “He doesn’t like it when you are here.” Victoria gave her a attentively worried glare before she departed in a quick moment. She left in a blur, just as Sorin emerged from the doors. He smirked with a confidence that Joanna had grown used to, he was not quite the same vampire she knew, but the aura of his authority still managed to overwhelm her.

“Master,” she sighed, bowing her head in a show of respect. Her cheeks were flushed with relief that Victoria had managed to escape. Sorin’s eyes only seemed gentle as they probed the area for signs of dissent, observing only a few disheveled papers he was satisfied. He thought he heard someone in the room with her but dismissed it. It could have been a servant, or even just Victoria, who was entirely harmless. Still obedience demanded honesty. 

“Have you had visitors?” he inquired. If she had a beating heart it would be pounding, Joanna was vulnerable to him in a way that few would understand. He was a force of nature, her maker, and still she adored him, despite herself. “Don’t lie, young one. Not to me.” While he may sound compassionate his voice was underlined by delicate threat. Joanna felt compelled to answer him honestly,

“Only Victoria,” her eyes were downcast, “I get very lonely and she visits me sometimes.” She didn't even realize that she was still holding the book, cradling it against her chest. When it was pulled from her arms, Joanna gasped and felt the blood wash from her features as her maker laughed openly at her. 

“And I assume this belongs to her?” He spoke. Sorin laughed scornfully at both Victoria, Joanna and the novel. “I can’t imagine that Olivia condones her reading such trash.” Effortlessly, the book dissolved between his fingers. At first, she thought to protest, but the way he looked at her filled Joanna with a deep sense of shame. 

“Forgive me, if maybe I could go out to the rest of court...” Even though he was her maker and she was beholden to him, Joanna had the urge to rebel. She was more isolated than ever. There were occasions that Joanna reminded him of himself as a young man, trying to understand his grandfather. Edgar was an impenetrable wall of steel and blood, his will could not be contested. Sorin, fortunately, had the ability to planeswalk after he was turned. Even if the Markov Elder desired, he could not stop his grandson. Yet, she had shown latent psychic potential. Joanna needed to be groomed, and the spectacles of court would only distract her development. He felt the shade of his grandfather behind him, even if Sorin wanted to sympathize, the legacy of the Markov line demanded otherwise.

“I know, child,” he expressed sympathetically. When he needed to be, Sorin could be quite charming. The pads of his fingertips were remarkably subtle as he lifted her chin and met her eyes. Joanna’s defiance melted away as she felt the world orbit around him. Sorin spoke with incredible persuasion and assurance, “This is for your own sake. You have the potential to save the Markov Bloodline, and when you are ready I will release you as a force upon this plane, but for now obey me.” He explained with earnest candor. “Trust me, child. I know what is best.” Sorin was pleased by her obedience as she agreed, silently.

“I was weak. I’m sorry,” she apologized with a simple but satisfying veracity. Joanna almost fell to her knees out of contrition. Whether Sorin had glamored her did not matter, it took very little of himself to endear her. Most vampires retained control over their progeny, his adept sangromancy allowed nearly complete command. Her subservience filled Sorin with abundant pride. Let Olivia attempt to undermine him with the scullery maid, he would not be bested.


	2. What is a Legacy?

There is no legacy so rich as honesty  
William Shakespeare

With focused gaze, Joanna waited for Sorin’s attack. Perhaps it was the ancient vampire’s preternatural genius, but it was much easier to spar with your maker when you were attempting to sublimate a burgeoning resentment. She considered what he was capable of, grateful he never called on the supernatural bond they shared so intimately as they fought. Even though he was capable, he had never commanded her blood. 

“In your training, I will test you in many ways,” Sorin had once explained to her. His voice even and unmoved by sentiment. “But, I will never command your blood nor abuse your subservience as my progeny. Unyielding strength is not a sufficient teacher.” The very thought of him dominating her so thoroughly filled her with dread and gave her pause. Just how powerful was her maker. It did not take her very long to find out, as she faced him now and wiped the blood from leaked from her eyes. She struggled to breath as a strong, spectral hand thrust her against the walls of the ring and encircled her neck with binding force.

“Are you giving up?” Sorin chided, nearly sighing as she sputtered helplessly. Joanna shook her head, determined as she called on her vampiric strength and dexterity. First, she found her footing against the wall. There was not much of a hold but she was able to dig the toe of her boot into the surface and focused less on breathing. It was easy to forget how unnecessary it was at times. Sorin smirked at her struggle, as soon as she realized she did not need to breathe, she could easily escape her current predicament. The air bent around her as she called to her profane strength, unconsciously she slashed into her own skin, to feel the rush of blood loss.The dangerous edge propelled her steps the ball of her foot struck the ground and she leapt towards Sorin. Joanna reached for the sword at her belt and managed to unsheathe it moving just a hair faster than her maker. She very nearly celebrated before she felt a painful wave of necromancy rip through her and she was pushed back to the wall. Her head struck it and she was briefly addled as Sorin appeared at her side, looming over his progeny. He knelt in front of her, discernibly upset, even his normally impassive eyes were livid with a simmering rage.

“And what precisely was that trick meant to prove?” It may have been the impact of her head against the stone wall but she had no answer. Joanna dumbly shrugged as Sorin glared at her, her once triumphant expression sunk in shame, “Are you some kind of savage that you would wound yourself to increase your speed? That will get you killed.” His voice was no longer gentle, but he growled at her through a disappointed sneer. “You are my progeny. Act like it.” He commanded, there was no warmth or sincerity in his words, just a threat and warning. Then, his demeanor shifted, as if he was one of the winds that drifted through Thaben in the spring. At first, he was severe and disciplined, but then he smiled. At first it looked entirely alien on his lips, as if somehow unnatural but then, she saw it reflected in the rest of his face and through his vivid gold eyes. He offered an arm which she readily accepted, and Sorin lifted her from the ground carefully. “Still, I cannot fault you for your ambition. You’ve pleased me today. This will not be forgotten,” he stated as if it were a mere fact and she had no say in the matter. Joanna was beginning to read Sorin’s desires and understand his expressions. Even if he was emotionally reserved, she saw something in the way he looked at her. At this precise moment she was not expected to speak. Instinctively, she deferred to him, wondering why he did not smile more often.

Sorin, despite familiarity, was as forbidding as ever. Joanna feared his silence as much as when he spoke. Once, she thought with time he would seem less foreign and brutal, but it had not softened him. He was still just as severe, but at least he cared for her, Joanna reasoned, or more accurately hoped. She saw an intrinsic good in him as he motioned for her to follow him back to the rooms they shared. Wordlessly, she fell in step, barely keeping up.

“You did well enough, but you’re potential is far greater. You are better than the parlor tricks of a common warrior,” Sorin explained as they traveled the various side passages through the court, “Do you know why I am pushing you so hard, child?” He asked, his sounded pleasant but clipped. Joanna shook her head. Sometimes, she had forgotten her voice she used it so little. Words didn’t seem necessary, and if Sorin had taught her anything, unlife was about carefully measured actions and protecting what you held dear. She saw a smile touch the corner of his lips as he appeared to admire her respectful silence. “You have the potential to wield psychic energy,” he spoke quietly, “I cannot risk your exposure to the court before you are ready to defend yourself adequately.” She glared questioningly, her eyes accusing him,

“I--what?” Joanna replied, her tone was not genial as she demanded more, “Is that why I’ve been hidden away? You’re worried?” Her words came out with far more demand than even she expected and Sorin smirked. Hearing the emotion in her voice, specifically her incredulity amused him as she questioned him.

“Why did you think I was keeping you isolated? Did your Victoria paint me as some jailer holding you in a tower,” Sorin commented, his voice taking on a mocking quality. “I admit it is a rather amusing image, a young innocent girl held captive by the cruel and dominating master. Rather like one of those books you enjoy so much?” Joanna’s skin felt uncharacteristically warm as he exposed her secrets so effortlessly. How much else did Sorin know about her? Suddenly, she felt stupid. He must know everything. Joanna’s expression was crestfallen, defeated. Was it so much to ask for one aspect of your life to remain private and personal?

Sorin watched wave of turmoil take over her features and was almost sorry that he exposed her deception. He had been a vampire for ages unnumbered and was no longer burdened by an intense connection to his kind. To feel her conflicting emotions reminded Sorin of what it was like to be just a vampire. 

“I--” Joanna started, struggling to find the voice she had worked so hard to conceal. She had buried her human instincts beneath a veil of subservience and indifference. It was simple enough to hide who she was when her maker was such an unyielding force. Sorin observed expectantly as she found the precise words. “Rarely does being kept in isolation prepare someone for the outside world,” her words were exacting and critical. “If anything, it makes it worse.” She was surprised by her own convictions and attempted to keep her face stern. Sorin laughed, openly disdainful of her concerns. He knew better than a mere neonate of a few months, the vampires of court would devour her. As a younger vampire he had taken advantage of far more worldly individuals and revelled in their fall from grace. The only reason he tolerated Victoria was that she retained a delicate humanity that existed despite her predatory nature. It was obvious a vampire of significant grace and quality was her sire and Sorin was at least curious about her sire.

Joanna noted that Sorin appeared distracted, barely acknowledging her concerns. “It doesn’t matter, young one,” he said absently, dismissing her entirely. “You’ve been a vampire for a few short months, and I several lifetimes. There is no lesson that you could learn out there that I could not teach you.” There was encouragement in his voice that seemed comforting at first, as if he genuinely cared about her. She wanted to believe him but Victoria’s warning echoed in the back of her mind. ‘Trust no one,’ she had warned her when she first arrived at the manse, ‘especially Sorin.’ While he had never betrayed her, he was always hiding something. For all he had revealed, she knew so little of him. Normally her silent acceptance assured Sorin of her obedience, but it was not enough, not for this issue. “Do you doubt me?” He asked, demanding open submission. He spoke with an almost divine authority, as if he was touched by a timeless ideal. His platinum, white hair was gently disheveled but even the slight imperfection looked like freshly fallen snow on a moonlight night. Sorin was impossibly handsome with high cheekbones and a noble expression. Joanna was simply overwhelmed. Even his golden eyes, a trait that marked him as an undead abomination were somehow beautiful. If she were mortal she would have blushed as he stared directly through her, into the center of her being.

“No,” she answered quietly. Joanna was equally embarrassed that she had folded so easily and doubted his integrity, at least in these matters. He was the only reason that she was alive at all and he protected her. Sorin wondered if it was fair to glamour her, but knew it was better than outright rebellion. Still there was a shade of guilt that troubled him despite the fact that he knew best in this matter. Wishes and feelings, like time itself, was fleeting. If he stopped to consider how others regarded a matter it would be only a waste of effort. After he was certain of her obedience, he released the glamor and smiled easily at her. Joanna returned it absently, still recovering from the effect of the spell.

True, Joanna was terrified of the concept of the greater court. She could still remember, in terror the vampires as they nearly devoured her with their porcelain masks and hungry eyes, but that didn’t change the allure it felt as an object forbidden to her. However, Sorin must be correct, she could learn very little from them, and at the very least nothing good or civilized. A little more willingly, she entered their lush chambers. The walls were lined with deep an expensive mahogany panels and like most of the mansion, lit with magic seamlessly woven through the stone itself. For a brief moment she forgot it was her prison.

“Will you be leaving again?” Joanna asked knowing he spent most of his time with Olivia. It was said they shared more than food, but Sorin never spoke of it. She wanted to ask him about it but had no idea how to. It was difficult to imagine her stern master in such flagrant displays of savagery, restrained as he behaved with her. He found question rather weighted, as if she asked it on several assumptions. The frown on her face revealed they were not all complementary.

“Soon. Why do you ask?” He sharply inquired. She most likely knew of his affair with Olivia Voldaren, but had the discretion not to ask of it. To his surprise, she did not defer her gaze,as Joanna usually did.

“I was only curious, sir.” She answered without any satisfaction. Her tongue still burned with questions. Sorin did not know whether she was still under the effects of the enchantment or had found her voice after all these months. Was she finally beginning to grow into her immortality?

“Would you like me to stay?” Sorin asked, more intrigued than upset at her sudden courage. There was profound clarity in her expression. Joanna appeared to hesitate before she replied exactingly,

“I have so many questions about you, I want to know more.” This was not a submissive request. Her voice was both sharp and accusational as she stared at him diligently. Sorin caught himself off guard as he motioned for Joanna to take a seat in a elegantly carved chair. Instinctively, he stood behind her and released her luxurious auburn hair from the bun she had set in for their training sessions. Even he could not deny the flower that he had pulled from the weeds of the Markov Ruins. Sorin combed through the hair carefully with his claws, separating the strands. They were slightly damp with exertion and a few of the strands clung together of their own accord.

Joanna was alarmed and frozen by the tender gesture. Her voice leapt from her throat and settled somewhere in her stomach, causing it to flutter. “Then speak,” Sorin commanded, “It would be remiss for me to deny such an resolute request.” He always embodied a regal elegance, even as he tended to her now. Joanna’s pulse pounded uncertain of where to begin.

“Um...What was your maker like?” she asked. Her voice was wracked with uncertainty. Why would she ask such a stupid question? Joanna cursed herself internally. She knew of Edgar Markov by reputation alone, but perhaps his grandson knew something she did not. Sorin paused a moment and considered her inquiry carefully. His grandfather was a delicate matter and one he did not often discuss with anyone. However, the only vampire one could trust is the one that they made. These secrets would be safe with her.

“He was like the mountains, larger than life and entirely suffocating. When my parents died, I was transferred into his care. I hate him. He was sound and fury. I was never what he wanted me to be,” Sorin answered honestly. “He was more fond of Olivia. She took after his rage and impulse. While he lived he held Stensia in a tyrant’s grasp. I doubt few mourn him.” Joanna was rendered speechless as Sorin revealed something so honest without any equivocation. He sounded mundane and common without his words warped by implication and entendre. “Is there anything else you’d like to know?” He offered, inviting further questions, unaware of the precedent he had just shattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for your support and kind words of encouragement. I'll never attain perfection, but damn it, I can try. Sorin Markov is such a decadent jack ass and is hard to write without making myself and you all hate him. This is what happens when you do a 2 year long character study. LOL
> 
> Anyhow, please read, enjoy, comment and kudos.


	3. Helpless

The greatness of a man's power is the measure of his surrender. William Booth

Victoria assumed she knew Sorin Markov. Like most elder vampires he seemed selfish and detached from any of his humanity with each action as a measured calculation of cause and effect. Compassion and love had been replaced by an enhanced and ruthless sense of survival that defined Innistrad vampires as gregarious predators. However, this elder was not so transparent. His nature was elusive and mercurial. Often, she spied on he and Joanna, observing a distinct eccentricity: he cared deeply for her, in his own way. Though he controlled her actions with a jailor’s persistence and exacting manipulation, she understood his motives. Victoria almost recognized them. Olivia shielded her from court as well, keeping her progeny to the shadows. She was rarely seen outside of the hidden passages or Olivia’s very own chambers, but it made her an effective agent. Perhaps this was similar, she reasoned. 

‘Enough for tonight,’ Victoria sighed as she left the small chamber where she had listened in to many intimate conversations between Sorin and his progeny. Her steps were thoughtful as she returned to Olivia Voldaren. At times, she admired the elder vampire’s devotion to Joanna, affected by his superior grace. In addition, he was a diligent and focused teacher as he mentored his progeny with arduous expectation. Displaying an uncommon patience that matched her drive to impress him. If he was able to transform the timid neonate, what else was he capable of? For the first time, Victoria was forced to consider his true might. Olivia was a leader through theatrical manipulation, but Sorin simply manifested authority. His bloodline gave him an imperial righteousness that even Olivia Voldaren must find intimidating, Victoria realized. The two powers could rule Innistrad together, but elder vampires rarely saw purpose in getting along.

The fire cracked with an appealing intimacy as she returned to her maker’s rooms. It served no true purpose as vampire’s were rarely cold but like much else that Olivia chose, was an ascetic set piece. The shadows of her furniture danced on the marble walls as the firelight embraced the room with a sense of warmth.

“My child,” she sighed, noting her progeny’s return. Victoria bowed her head, her eyes gleaming with undisguised relief. She no longer felt conflicted by her emotions for Sorin Markov or the beguiling Joanna. Olivia's presence radiate an aura that intrinsically comforted her. “I suppose you learned something tonight,” her voice sounded light and airy, but she discerned disappointment in her cadence.

“Sorin merely taught her gifts, and has worked on her attempts to glamor mortals. As you are aware,” Victoria offered what little intelligence she discerned. She rarely held back information, but at times she did not wish to share everything. It was a small disobedience, but Olivia did not need to know what Sorin had confessed to his progeny. This only served to irritate the Lord of Innistrad, whose absence in her chambers had been publicly noted while he taught the neonate.

“Do you find it odd,” Olivia began, staring into the vaulted ceiling as the grand arches caught her attention, “That he cares so much for this child, after one thousand years of disinterest in anything related to his home.” Victoria was startled as her maker asked her a question. At first, she did not know how to answer. Was this a test? Usually Olivia knew the answers. She answered with a reserved temerity.

“In what respect, my lord?” She tread uncertain ground as her mistress’ eyes were focused on the architecture. Olivia’s attention moved to Victoria, whose uncertainty piqued her interest as if she was somehow frightened. Her blood red hair was reflected in the fire as she floated to where her progeny stood.

“I’ve known Sorin since his parents were taken by the famine a millenia ago. He’s never cared for anything in his life, even before he was turned. But now he nurtures this fledging. Sorin does not take a step without knowing what his next thousand steps will be. What does he see in her?” She clarified, noting that her child seemed to be holding back. Her eyes were steady, but there was a tension in her hands that revealed weakness.

“Mistress, she is his child, his blood. He cares for her. Certainly, she is powerful, but that is to be expected. Is it not?” There was no indecision in her words, Victoria’s expression held an innocent clarity. Perhaps Olivia was merely paranoid and seeing things. Sorin had remained at court far too long to simply be enjoying respite from his extra-planar travels and conflicts. When he was at her side, she knew he was leashed and enthralled, but when they were apart he represented an undesirable variable. The silence that followed was damning, she could not disagree with Victoria entirely, but now there was something she did not know. 

“You may be right, child,” she felt a sense of guilt as she realized how foolish she was to believe her Victoria may be duplicitous. The bond they shared was strengthened by her own blood, after several hundred years it was unlikely to fade. Olivia placed a reassuring kiss on her cheeks. Her lips brushing the flushed skin gently before she withdrew once more. “My apologies, I simply refuse to believe that a predator changes its teeth. He must have some agenda yet planned.” 

She turned her attention away from Victoria, who was grateful that she did not suspect her omission of Joanna’s uncanny gifts. It was not her place to tell, she affirmed internally. Nor was she allowed to convey what Sorin had confessed to Joanna. Instead, Olivia mused, as if upset by his lack of attention. 

“You are not needed my dear, and you look as if you need to rest and feed,” she ordered softly. “You’re dismissed.” With a short bow, Victoria left the room through the same door, lifting the tapestry aside. Olivia was finally alone as she took in the overwhelming silence of the her bedchambers. Only the popping of the wood as the flames licked it encompassed the room, exposing how empty it was. Her eyes caught sight of the parasite blade that still lay unclaimed by its original owner and grasped the the hilt. It was heavier than she preferred, but it was of him, unmistakably. She could hardly wield the power that surged through the blade, his blood was the catalyst for its most formidable abilities. Olivia thrust it as if she were a child playing with a wooden sword. She smirked as she recalled her younger self wresting the the blade from his hand.

~~~ A Few Centuries Ago~~~~

Olivia moved with distinct grace as she dueled Sorin. She was proud as she outmaneuvered him, with all of his magic and raw power. Her abilities were sharpened to a point as fine as her dueling foil which was now pointed at his vulnerable throat. Sorin’s fingertips just began to sharpen into claws and he snarled as she loomed above him.

“I win,” she confirmed. Withdrawing her sword as she dexterously snatched the Parasite Blade from his fingers and evaded his attacks. Sorin was clumsy by comparison and his strikes telegraphed by the direction of his torso. He depended entirely on magic, Olivia thought as she giggled at his sudden vulnerability. Now that Olivia could float, she refused to do anything else. It was like dancing in the air and showed off her impeccable muscle control that the blood had gifted her. The blade was heavier than she imagined it would be and seemed mostly useless but she watched Sorin eviscerate a neonate that had crossed him once. He plunged it into the unfortunate victims shoulder. The location of the wound itself would not have been deadly but for the profane way it drank from the shriveling body mollified the court. The sword was an impressively crafted blade but gave him a handicap that left him dependent on magic, instead of skill.

“So, you do,” Sorin groaned as he lifted himself gingerly from the marble floors. She flushed as his eyes traced her body, beginning at her pointed toes. He appraised her hungrily, with no subtlety or shame. Olivia delighted in his presence as Sorin smoothed down the creases in his clothing. The silken ivory shirt he wore was torn from the tip of her foil and tainted with blood, even though the skin healed. She attempted to memorize the look on his face, and the gold gleam of his eyes as he regarded the tear and shrugged. “I confess, I did not expect a duel during our reunion, Olivia,” he teased, drawing close to her. “Rather something more intimate,” Sorin whispered against her neck, just beneath the ear. He kissed the pulse point at her neck, just kicking it with his elongated fangs as he chuckled. It was like a growl or even a purr that rumbled on the sensitive skin as she floated in his embrace. Sorin’s fingers twisted through her luscious hair with indulgent patience as he tormented her with light, butterfly kisses along the hollow of her throat. Olivia was impatient, it had been a decade since Sorin had disappeared, denying her the passionate pleasure she craved, that no other could give her.

“I missed you,” she confessed. She was straining as his strong hands wrapped around her forearms, holding Olivia still as she attempted to move closer to Sorin. He held her suspended, merely toying with her, tasting her bare skin as he dragged his fangs along the pale canvas of her chest. He just punctured the skin with exacting precision and smirked as she moaned at his attentions. 

“I can tell,” he replied with a smirk, his voice smug and knowing. Sorin refused to confess his feelings, instead translating his passion into affection. He would show her how he felt, as he always did. Olivia pined with frustration, as he kissed her slowly, deliberately. His tongue traced her lips before he connected them. He waited for an errant breath, a hushed sigh escaped from her lips before he deepened the kiss, demanding entry into her mouth. He took advantage of her weakness so easily as she lead him to the bed, floating away has she wrested herself from his grasp, lingering at arms length. Olivia knew just how to bat her eyelashes as she shifted her black garment from her shoulders and it slid down her body. The gown was heavy and stifling as it it hugged her the curve of her breast and narrow waist before dropping onto the floor with a soft thud. She was a brilliant, perfect pearl, a specimen of beauty. The expression on Sorin’s face saw to that. He appeared struck by her beauty. His eyes narrowed and focused, his mouth held agape in fixation, revealing more than his words ever did. 

~~~~~

Such memories were infinitely frustrating, Olivia noted, wishing she could dismiss the flush against her ivory skin. She was as fine and perfect as marble. However, instead of being a statue, immortal and beyond reproach, these reminisces cut her to the core. She wanted to scream as her fists curled into tight balls, revealing her tension. She didn’t even hear the footsteps that approached from behind her. Her senses clouded by a familiar combination of lust, rage, and disappointment.

“Dare I ask what you are thinking?” Sorin teased. Keeping a safe and respectful distance from Olivia as she looked thoughtfully at the fire. He noted the tension in her fingers and heard her pulse pounding. ‘She’s off-center,’ he noted silently, smirking.

“You can ask,” she replied, her voice dangerously controlled, “But I don’t have to tell you.” He bowed his head, mocking her authoritative retort. It sounded weak and childish, even petty. Besides, as she turned to face him her eyes revealed a deep wanting. For once, her emotions were not under a firm mastery and Sorin was no fool. He used this to his advantage, standing to his full height with shoulders wide and commanding.

“Shame,” he said, the word sounding so exquisite and tempting on his tongue. Sorin spoke with a deliberate grace, using the prestige that came to him with such ease. Olivia should have felt threatened, in fact she did. She saw shades of his grandfather, at first, but there was something more intimidating, he knew her weakness. He located her insecurities and poked at them as he inched closer. “No matter,” he added quietly, his attack unrelenting as his eyes made libidinous promises. She froze as he seemed to corner her, without anything being behind her. She could have run, should have, as he traced her jawline. The hand at her waist shifted her near to him as he subtly guided her actions. She exhaled sharply, unable to resist as his hand settled at the base of her skull. “I’ll make you tell me,” he breathed, his voice a relaxed murmur. Olivia’s mind went blank as he entreated a kiss from her lips. 

Her hands gripped the soft linen of his shirt, overpowered as she was aggressively maneuvered away from the fireplace, onto the chaise lounge near the crackling fire. There was something tender in how he expressed himself. Even if she felt out of control, her longing begging her to acquiesce to his physical demands. The indirect heat of his touch, as his fingers slid over the smooth silk of her black robe entranced Olivia, even as she fought to find her voice. Still, Sorin tormented her through the material, which felt so enticing as it caressed her skin. She panted, betraying her desires when he began to brush aside the panels and revealed her toned, firm legs. At first, it tickled, as his fingers traveled up her legs. He seemed to admire her form with artistic reverence. The inside of her thighs were sensitive and even soft by comparison to the firm muscles on the rest of her. Frustratingly he avoided her core, just brushing lips of her vulva, teasing Olivia with his patience. Out instinct her hips moved to meet his hand before Sorin cruelly pulled it away and leisurely untied her robe. It was the only fabric between she and his naked hand.

“Wait,” she breathed, hoping she didn’t sound desperate. Sorin glanced up from the knot and raised firm eyebrow. He stared intently, enjoying her dazed expression as he smelled her yearning with perfect clarity.

“Oh,” he asked, his hands no longer worked the knot. The stilled against her stomach, drawing circles on the bare skin, “What is it, Olivia?” He taunted her deliberately, further infuriating her. Did he need to be so smug about this! She raged, her frustration and lust keened.

“You’re rather clothed,” Olivia said, recovering a little. “Don’t you think--” Sorin shook his head. 

“When I’m ready my dear. I made a promise I intend to keep.” He commanded, encouraging the Lord of Innistrad to recline against the cushions. “Lie back,” he soothed, as the memory of his promise resurfaced. Effortlessly, Sorin claimed the one strip of fabric that kept her body concealed from him. The wait of it was agony, as he rose from between her legs, the familiar warmth leaving her wanting and cold as he moved behind her. Then,she almost jumped, once the silk tie of her robe covered her own eyes. Olivia gasped aloud, revealing her desires wantonly.

“Sorin!” she cried out as she felt it tighten. He bent to whisper in her ear,

“Do you object,” he asked, pulling the robe from her shoulders. She shook her head, attempting to kiss him with desperate fervor. His warm breath lingering on her neck, as tangled his fingers in the soft tresses of her hair. They curled around his hand, helplessly mired. Olivia’s skin was flushed for the first time in centuries, scrambling to find her footing in this new game Sorin commanded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter just happened. I thought it was important in the narrative I am attempting to convey, but at the very least it should entertain and reveal many of our players. That you enjoyed this chapter will be truly enough, for as much as I found joy in writing it. Thank you.
> 
> Also, must find a better format for flashbacks.


	4. And I thought I was so smart

We're born alone, we live alone, we die alone. Only through our love and friendship can we create the illusion for the moment that we're not alone. Orson Welles

Sorin’s initial intention was merely to unpin Olivia’s self-control. She had used such distractions on him before and he rather enjoyed the way her claws raked his skin. They had been formal opponents with carefully set boundaries but the lines of familiarity had bled through. Sorin had lived long enough to know that there was no easy way to separate from her and leave Innistrad behind him. This was a mistake and he had already invested too much. However, he found himself lingering. The bright red tresses flowed down her back, starkly contrasting against her pearl skin, like blood. Absently, he combed his fingers through her hair, the tips of his fingers drawing small circles upon her sateen skin. This was too intimate, Sorin knew, but he found himself drawn back to her. Was it the moonlit nights when they were young? He stilled as she stirred, his illustrations drawing Olivia from sleep. Her eyes were clouded with momentary confusion, the bleariness of waking creating a false sense of softness that Sorin knew was a lie.

“Snake,” she hissed, bitter at how devastatingly she was unwound by his attentions. “You enjoyed that, didn’t you.” Her sharp words broke the emotional trance that had occupied him and Sorin’s eyes narrowed. Olivia’s back bent in an otherworldly,implausible grace as she stretched like a cat. He smirked as her breasts brushed against the bloodstained sheets. It reminded of him of how she clenched around him as he snapped their hips together and she shattered. He adored as Olivia cried out in pleasure, it was a beauty that never faded.

“Did you?” Sorin asked simply. His eyes sparkling with mischief as a telling blush painted her cheeks. Her wrists were sore, and red from the friction of her now torn robe. Sorin had been more than thorough and she felt indulgent as a queen. However, it was the powerless kind of pleasure, as if she were his mere consort and he the Lord of Innistrad.

“I hate you,” Olivia bit. Her temper short with the realization that in the game they started, Sorin had only been half trying and now he intended to win. There was no reason to disguise her feelings with misleading words and parlor tricks. 

“You don’t.” Sorin replied. “You wish you hated me, and that you could forget.” Sorin was always tall, but he looked more powerful now. His confidence had returned and his smile was rakish. Olivia despised feeling self-conscious as his pointed words were applied with ruthless efficiency. If he put his mind to it, he could be a force of nature.

“Forget what?” Olivia blurted without disputing his statement. At one point, there had was an equality between them. When Sorin first came to her, with his mud-drenched progeny following behind the ancient vampire was barbaric. His clothes were torn and he seemed like the other refugees and she had taken pity on him. She forgot how dangerous he was and simply allowed him to walk about court with unprecedented freedom. Now, however, Sorin’s humility was a shroud that he used to conceal his true strength until the time was right. Suddenly, Olivia felt closer to the true death.

The sheets on the bed were in disarray and Olivia watched him with more care than she had before. Sorin raised his eyebrow with impertinence before he pushed the hair from his face. The silver strands spilled away from his eyes and he replied evenly,

“Forget how we used to steal away at Markov Manor before we were turned. When you risked being whipped and beaten to be at my side, even for a few moments of pleasure.” It did not matter that his tone was quiet, his words were the temptation. She remembered cold marble floors, and the warmth of his skin as they made love beneath the sympathy lights. The firelight dancing in the background, framing the young lord. Her cheeks were flushed as the ancient memories creeped from the ether of her subconscious. Sorin made her sound so desperate for him, but perhaps then she was. Still, they were children then. Little more than adolescents groping for some vain amusement. 

“You remember things very differently,” Olivia offered vaguely. She was careful to not reveal anything more than she needed to now that she knew Sorin had revealed his claws. She would not willingly confess to Sorin what he would have her reveal under interrogation.

“Different yes, but not incorrectly. My grandfather was a hard man,” Sorin revealed, showing a flash of anger at his memory. His fist clenched as he observed Oliva’s face shift with concern. It was rare that they simply spoke like this. She stayed a safe distance away, as if she was afraid of him. Finally, she was beginning to submit, Sorin observed as her posture shrank. 

“He was cruel,” Olivia admitted. “Even then, before he changed us. You should have challenged him, perhaps House Markov would not have fallen. He could never see past his pride.” Sorin released his hand and was startled into silence as she spoke. He attempted to find the guile in her voice, but only discerned faint praise and admiration. His own posture mirrored Olivia and, for the most brief sliver of time, the bed was a safe space between them. The outside world was insignificant as they shared a forgotten intimacy.

“You give me far too much credit,” Sorin stated as Olivia leaned against his bare chest. . Reflexively, he embraced her and she sighed, finding a small comfort in sensation she thought she would never feel again. He smelled faintly of blood and sweat, as he continued,

“I am not wise, merely experienced. I would have done no better than my grandfather. I am no leader, just an exiled prince.” Olivia rested her head against his shoulder and traced the muscles on his arm, sculpted from training and profane strength.

“You’re wrong. You could have been more,” she chided gently. The rest of her words would be unkind so she chose silence instead. How he abandoned the vampires of Innistrad for wanderlust, hedonistic selfishness, and then created Avacyn to destroy his own kin. Even if there was more to the story, Olivia didn’t care. He abandoned her long before creating Avacyn. 

Sorin wanted to answer her. After all, she knew him best. Olivia was there when his parents died and offered him support, love even when all he knew was the harsh dismissal of his grandfather. Perhaps there were better words to say, but all he could think of was a harsh denial of her sympathy,

“You don’t know who I am, Olivia. You only remember the boy I was, not who I became.” Then, she was too close, suffocating as she tried to bridge the centuries between them. Sorin shoulders were tightly wound and he shifted away from her. Her gentle expression was distorted.

“Where are you going Sorin?” She asked, her voice was marked with uncommon concern as he prepared to leave, rising from the bed they shared. He smirked at her crestfallen expression, finding a small measure of amusement in her sadness.

“I have to attend to my own needs, and that of my progeny.” His voice was frustratingly cold as he answered Olivia with a curt, polite refusal. “I assume you have duties to attend to as well, Lord of Innistrad.” She scoffed as he used her title. It was reminder of the difference between them, and that Sorin was still beyond her reach.

Meanwhile, Victoria and Joanna hid in the library, though their giggles carried through the corridors. Finally, she was released from her prison and absorbed the hundreds of neglected books. It turns out Victoria was not exaggerating, vampires rarely read. 

“Humans are so ridiculous,” Joanna said, grinning as she thumbed through another account of the barbarism of vampires. The literature was pure pulp. It was blood, viscera and somehow, in the midst of it seduction.

“It’s the mysteriousness of our nature, or at least what the humans elect to interpret. We were supposed to be mighty lords, but we are just trifles in fiction,” Victoria scoffed as she took a sip from a goblet of blood. It took her a moment to realize she was staring at the din of Joanna’s hair. It was a dark red, nearly as black as her own, however, she was defined by her Markov bloodline. Her cheeks were strong and she looked stronger than a neonate. It must have been her sire. The purity of his bloodline was somehow enhanced, but all this was academic. Victoria found herself staring at Joanna more often, getting lost in her fascinated expressions.

“Can I ask you a question, sweetheart?” She inquired, hesitant but friendly. Joanna turned her face and the soft candle light was just enhanced by the fires glow. The curve of her face looked like statue it was so finely carved. They were nestled close on the chair, leaning against one another.

“What is your maker truly like? Do you care for him now that you’ve gotten to know him?” Victoria asked, watching the shadows play on her face. Was she smiling or sad? It was hard to tell. 

“He is a mountain, immovable and forbidding most of the time. Kind of like a monument. But there are times, he is greater even than that. It’s like,” Joanna paused. Her brows knit together in frustration as she closed the book. She searched for the right words.

“Kind of like a God really. Like the statues of Avacyn I used to worship when I was human. Angelic, profane, and divine. Then, there are times he’s human and frail. He’s lost so much and the weight of the vampires weighs down on him. I can tell,” Joanna confided. “I”m worried he’s going to leave soon, once I am ready. Then who will protect me.” Victoria ignored the pang of guilt she felt as Joanna revealed so much, knowing she was as much a spy for Olivia as she was Joanna’s friend. It was another secret she would keep from her mistress.

“I can protect you if you want that is. I know I’m not an elder vampire, but I do not want to see you hurt. ” Victoria admitted. She tried to control the tone in her voice, to avoid sounding so eager and desperate for a connection to Joanna. She sighed, knowing how hard it was to trust another vampire. She ignored that her heart pounded, pulsing as she giggled. A relieved smile played on her face,

“I...do you really like me? Enough to protect me and teach when Sorin leaves?” The thought was dizzying. She examined Victoria’s face, her eyes scrutinizing her integrity. Sorin’s warnings reminded her daily not to trust her, but she didn’t care. When Sorin was gone was she expected to trust no one and live alone? She frowned at the thought of being alone again and begged, 

“Please do. I lost my family once before, I don’t want to be alone again.” The two shared a lingering glance, finding kinship together. Victoria grasped her hands gratefully, kissing them with fervor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize that this is shorter than most of my updates, but I was really pleased with where this scene ended. I didn't want to stifle the development between to the two characters. There is more coming in other chapters, I promise.
> 
> <3 Thank you to everyone still reading. <3


	5. Look at where we are, Look at where we started

“Loss alone is but the wounding of a heart; it is memory that makes it our ruin.”  
― Brian Ruckley, Fall of Thanes

There was nothing quite like being in the center of a Grand Masque. Even as Olivia observed it from her throne, admiring how the dancer’s skirts swirled in the flickering sympathy light. Still, she was confronted by unrelenting truth. _There was a stage for each player_ , Olivia considered as she pondered her troublesome lover. While Sorin took joy from solitary reflection and a quiet, stable authority that beat like a steady, even pulse, Olivia danced to the momentary madness of court. She was shaped by shifting alliances and insecurity of those around her. There was a loneliness to the dais of power, a distance, she sighed. Life at court existed both with and without her influence. Was that why Edgar was a monument, larger-than-life and so forbidding? And why he molded his grandson into an austere and reserved bystander? 

The court musicians were enchanted to play until the demand ceased, but given the stamina of vampires one ball could last days. However, as long as the vampires were remained subjugated by pleasures of the flesh they were obedient. She watched the dancers imperially, trying to recall what weakness convinced her that Sorin was somehow trustworthy. He stood before her in tattered robes, his skin gaunt and dirty, while Olivia loomed above him a pinnacle of beauty and power. She should have gloated in his weakened condition, killed the cursed progeny, and forced his hand. She was a fool to have pitied and fed him. It would have been better force him to leave the plane in a fury. Perhaps it was part of the immortal game they played, an enemy who was at his lowest was no true foe at all. Now, however, Olivia knew he waited for her to falter. As far as she could discern, he was enjoying a vacation as he relentlessly toyed with her perceptions.

No amount of opulence or excess could soothe the frustrations that mounted into a significant headache over his continued, looming presence. Fortunately, as the Lord of Innistrad she could slip away without ever being questioned. Who would dare? The singular benefit of her arrangement with Sorin was that the court had no way to settle. The perceived power between their intimate alliance left even the bravest of courtiers uncertain. More than once she thought to name him consort, or give him some relevant title, but she knew that he would refuse her generosity. It was strange that he lingered long enough for the point to be considered. Olivia’s attendants followed as she floated from the throne and into the privacy of her intimate quarters. 

It was in the silent, revered silence of her chamber, where the music no longer echoed, that she realized the truth. “I still love him,” Olivia whispered, her voice hushed as she clutched her heart in a form of fear. Love was a weakness, desire it’s puppet and Sorin was an ancient vampire. With few exceptions, they were cruel, but Sorin had never been kind. Even when they were young, he was cold-hearted and cruel.

At least she found comfort in routine as she removed her royal jewelry for the evening. Ruby pendants that dropped beneath her ear and gold chain that stood out against her black gown. Her exposed shoulders only looked narrow, as she almost always wore a constant glamour to create the ideal appearance. The room was lit with the glow of artificial lights, enchanted to flicker as torches and resplendent carvings spanned from the floor to the ceiling which vaulted into an exaggerated peak. Nothing was simple, it was not permitted. Decadence was a veil, and there were even times she missed the simplicity of her younger days when she was Edgar’s ward and Sorin his handsome heir. However, nothing could ever be the same.

Olivia’s entire estate looked more like a prison each day. Away from the grace of her presence, Sorin observed the folly of her reign. Marked by excess and libidinous hunger it would fail, and the vampires would die out as she murdered the delicate balance he sought to preserve. Being around her was like an addiction. He was distracted by her artful performances. The act of a subservient lover, the false emotions of camaraderie that had slowly grown between them, and even the flutterings of affection. Sorin had suppressed them, but Olivia knew how to draw at his frozen heart and tug it. He despised feeling so vulnerable, but he was in an entrapment of his own construction.

Sorin longed to touch her bright red hair and relished as he tangled his fingers between the strands. Her mouth would open as she gasped in radiant pleasure long enough for him to claim it. Her skin felt undeniably soft beneath him as he touched her in any way she could. The curve of her back as he entered her made his blood rush. In her presence, he wanted nothing more than her, and that was why Sorin knew it was time he moved on, despite Joanna. Innistrad was a hungry, desperate place and it would only corrupt him further. There was a primal horror imbued with the land itself, as if the soul of the plane was enchanted with the stench of death and suffering. He could still recall the land before his kind plagued it with the garrish excess of death. 

The last clear day that Sorin could recall when Sorin Markov saw both of his parents interred, but despite the bright sun, the air had a cool, biting chill. He watched listlessly as the first shovel of dirt cascaded over the coffin. To him the audible sprinkle of the dirt on the fine wood sounded like finalty. He would no longer see his mother’s face. Her soft brown eyes and nearly silver hair were forever sundered from the world and Sorin remained stoic, behind a mask of nothing.The thin, delicate hands of his grandfather squeezed his shoulder and he shuddered. The man was nearly a stranger to him. He kept himself sequestered in a study, surrounded by piles of books. He smelled like the residue of lamp oil and chemicals. He did not want to live with his grandfather. He was nearly old enough to inherit his parent’s estate, but he was in no position to dispute the greater claim. Sorin had resigned himself, Edgar was all had left. There was no way that he could know what his grandfather had planned, as his mother was buried beneath the Earth. 

Now Sorin knew better. He wasn’t a grandson, he was a prototype. A mere possession to his grandfather who intended to make a new race and place themselves as lords above humanity. The frail humanity that mourned for his mother and drove him to seek the companionship of Olivia in the first place a millenia ago. It was just another cage. Emotions were insignificant to timeless beings. Fragment of perception colored by biases and they did not reveal truth, only flawed assumptions. Instead, he grounded himself in certainties and suddenly, Innistrad was empty, devoid of any true worth.

Sorin observed Joana out of the corner of his eye, studying a tome of ancient lore. One he himself had looked at when he was her young age. She grew into her own strength, even if he wanted to control her, she was beyond the meager skills that he could teach her. She would never be able to master his true power. Her fine cheekbones, a marker of his bloodline, gave her an ideal appearance, but it did not change what was necessary. He had to let her go and leave his home behind. His entire being tingled and pulsed, as if the spark was constrained by staying in one place for so long. 

Regardless of an aching wanderlust that never changed, no matter how many ages he had spent in this existence, Sorin turned his attentions to Joanna. She seemed distracted and distant as she read in front of a fireplace for light. _No doubt a human instinct_ , he recalled. It was not apparent but she clung to a few of them, it was a trait that Sorin preferred. _If she is able to keep her humanity there may be hope yet for the balance which I sacrificed so much_ , he considered. Unwittingly, he called out to her through his thoughts and Joanna pivoted her head slowly. 

There were times she looked afraid when he summoned her attention, but currently, she appeared distracted. “Master,” Joanna answered promptly, despite her distant expression. “Is something the matter?” She seemed genuinely inquisitive as she focused on him. His silver hair gleamed the pale light of the room as he smiled softly. 

Sorin shook his head as he admired his progeny with something more than pride. Even though she still was adorned as one of Oliva’s dolls, she wore her hair down and gathered at her waist. The satin strands were relaxed and intimate. He even observed a trace of the brave human that arrived at Markov Manor, determined and thoughtful as she waited for a reply. She hesitated before rising from the armchair and her limbs moved in a graceful arc as she approached him. 

It had taken months to master, but she finally understood how to move with the grace of their bloodline. The moment took Sorin aback, and he did not withdraw as she approached him. The intricate lacework of her gown was now visible as she walked from the fireplace and implored him, “Master, you seem distracted.” Joanna observed, bowing her head respectfully. She had blossomed into a true heir of the Markov line, or at least what it was meant to be before Nahiri entombed his line into an gruesome monument.

The gesture was courtly perfection and Sorin answered reflexively, “You don’t need to act so meek, child. You are my progeny and when I am gone you bow to no one.” He lifted her chin, so that she no longer stared at his feet. “Not even Olivia,” Sorin added, hoping that her little bird was listening in. Strangely, he did not smell her essence in the normal locations and made a mental note on the development. 

Joanna seemed to take his meaning precisely as it was, and not as he meant it to sound. She read through his praise and heard something else in his voice: regret. “You speak as if you intend to leave?” She answered him and almost hated herself once she realized she would miss him. The monster who changed her and stole her from a death she so craved. _Was it the blood, the bond; or would the loss resonate on its own?_

Sorin raised a perfect brow and regarded her cautiously. This was meant to encourage her, not reveal his own intentions. “It is inevitable,” he stated, hoping to deflate her curiosity. The warmth left his features and was dominated by an impassive mask

Joanna was not swayed. Instead she demanded, “That’s not an answer. Do you intend to leave soon?” She rephrase the question, hoping to gain a more direct response. Sorin spoke in riddles and obscured his meaning with all the artfulness expected of his age and station. “And when you do? What becomes of me?” She asked, perplexed. The instincts of her vampiric nature, marked by a bestial hunger and zealous passion did not blend with human curiosity. Or even her own Maker’s dour brand of stoicism. Who am I meant to be then, she wondered as she discerned her makers influence with such strength. 

Sorin had two choices before him: to answer Joanna or shut down the question. Even as his progeny begged him for an answer. The problem was he did not have one. When he recalled his past with absolute perfection he felt the blind rage, the vengeance that was owed Nahiri and little else. Vampires did not and should not ask of their nature, it was decided for them by their profane hunger. It was not healthy to question so simple an urge. Vampires lived to feed and to survive. The gowns, goblets and finery were just accessories to make them feel as if they were above the beasts. 

He knew his answer then, and walked to the mantle, where a magical fire flickered. He crooked a finger and beckoned for Joanna to follow. She sat in the chair and waited, hoping to explain even the most simple thing about her. “You are to survive. To answer the innate hunger that pulses inside of you. Never forget, behind the veneer of these walls and the grandeur of Olivia’s estate we are predators and beasts. We feast on the blood of humans alone and it is in our nature to hunt and kill them. Vampires are alone. We do not share companionship or food because our needs are simple. You shall walk alone.”

Her eyes dropped as she realized he did not intend to comfort her. He called her attention back as he snapped abruptly, “No matter what the vixen promises you, or what Olivia will tempt you with. When I am gone I expect you to leave this prison and hunt, live in your nature. As long as you understand that you are like any other predator, expected to comprehend that you exist in a balance with those beneath you.” 

Sorin examined the room in disgust. “This place is a cage, it will protect you, but it will infect you as well. Olivia’s purpose is to control the vampires, and she has made a playground where you would be a god, but in name only. Do not forget your nature.” He dictated, knowing that it was perhaps more than she could understand now. He observed a tremor in her shoulders and knelt at her side. He saw that she cried, blood fell from her ducts and her entire body shivered. 

He was deliberately gentle as he caught her chin once more and soothed, “I am not sorry, young one. It is better you know now. I only subjected myself to this prison to ensure that you would not need to when I was gone.” Joanna nodded as she leaned into Sorin’s chest and her body continued to shake. 

He had no defense as she took shelter in his chest and wrapped his arms around her. The act of comforting another seemed alien as she trembled and shook against him whispering repeatedly, “I never wanted this.” The rest of the words were muffled into his chest as her tears stained his shirt. Sorin was not perturbed as he embraced Joanna, steadying her as she convulsed and released a torrent of withheld emotions. Remarkably, Sorin understood her grief. When he was made, he wanted nothing more than to die as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for EkaterinaMarkvov, and anyone else who might still be reading this. I didn't expect this much angst but there was quite a lot I needed to set up for the endgame of this fic. It's almost a year old and I hope that I get the chance to finish it before GenCon in August. My complete thanks to anyone who is still reading.
> 
> Anyway, my loves, enjoy. Cry a bit if you must. Any feedback is appreciated but I really only hope that you enjoy it!


	6. Satisfied

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joanna braves the vampire court herself, as Olivia provides devastating distraction. Sorin is forced to confront his failings and confess feelings he did not know that he had.

Chapter 6: Satisfied

“You’re like me, I’m never satisfied.”

The mansion almost felt like home. In the months that she spent, isolated from the rest of court Joanna memorized the hidden tunnels and catacombs. Even though she felt a burning desire to escape her cage, she had never braved the throne room. The imposing walls and thousands of gleaming eyes still haunted her. Joanna recalled perfectly as Sorin guided her through the great hall. Even though they were dwarfed by intricately carved stone she remembered the rows of vivid, glowing eyes. They watched her and the elder vampire as if they were prey. She held his hand for dear life, fear sinking into the her bones. Joanna knew in that moment that he was her protector, but he wouldn’t always be. However, now she was ready. No, Joanna considered, I’ll have to be ready. She wanted to find optimism in herself, but only observed a deep sense of foreboding and dread.

Joanna adjusted the porcelain mask, hoping it would allow her to blend in with the rest of the court. Her rich, auburn hair was bound in a bun at the base of her neck. As a young girl, a human, she would never have owned anything so fine as the deep red robes, embellished with black lace. Although she felt no cold, she felt safe hiding behind the heavy fabric and the expressionless mask. Still, she worried. Joanna knew few things about other vampires, but that they were cruel, capricious, and would devour her if they knew who she was. As the progeny of Sorin Markov, elder vampire and exiled prince, her blood was more pure than most. 

The network of passages led through the mansion and to a small alcove. The space was barren, but for a door that revealed an open corridor. She heard laughter and a chorus of voices absorbed in vibrant conversation. It was not at all what she imagined the vampire court of Olivia Voldaren would sound like.Her hand rested on the lever and Joanna hesitated before turning it. This would be it, Sorin, her maker would never forgive her. But maybe it was better this way. She had defied him in small steps, hidden her indiscretions, but she had to try. She took a deep breath, despite not needing to do so and pushed open on the false wall. 

Joanna was not prepared for the sight of so many vampires. She was almost drowning in the voices as she walked into the wider hallway. There were so many doors, and the light of the walls reminded her of the sun. As she admired the ornate carvings, and the sound of small chamber orchestra playing until another vampire slammed into her. Joanna maintained her balance but the noble scoffed, “Newborns, honestly, we ought to do away with them.” He didn't even look at her, but continued to talk with his friend. She was relieved that they paid no more heed to her and forged her way through painted double doors into a salon. If she had a heart it would be beating, pounding in her chest like a drum but the magic that sustained her required no heart beat.

The salon was filled with a few tables, and errant vampires gambled with one another as they sipped blood from crystal goblets. The light from the walls fractured in the ornate glass and it reminded her of the cathedrals in Thraben. Sorin had always told her the world was dark, and forbidding, however this seemed like paradise. No vampires noted her entrance, to distracted by whatever game the played. For this Joanna was grateful. She found a plush seat to hide in, dwarfed by resplendent statute of Olivia Voldaren and concealed by a magically enhanced plant. For several minutes, she sat unnoticed and observed how normal vampires simply lived. Perhaps Sorin was wrong, Joana considered.

She passed several long minutes in silence, watching Stensia’s elite simply play at cards. These were not the monsters her parents spoke of, nor the deviant’s Sorin had warned her about. Her gaze was drawn to two men who spoke softly. They both wore no masks, and looked enshrouded in a perpetual glamour. The first man’s face was framed in blond, tight curls. They shimmered in the bright light and it caught her off guard. It drew her eyes and unwittingly, she focused on it. As her eyes locked on him, his head turned abruptly in her direction and he stared. He grinned darkly as he whispered to his much more dour companion. While his dark hair was far from unique, his bearing felt familiar to her. As if she knew him despite this being the first time she laid eyes on him.

Before she knew it, Joanna was caught and her luck ran dry as the blond vampire captured her wrist between clawed fingers. His smile revealed large fangs and he demanded, “Come, girl. We need third for cards.” His appearance was so pleasant and soft that Joanna merely nodded, pliant to his wishes. The vampire chuckled as the distracted neonate to the table. Everything about him was charming, intoxicating her better judgement.

The strength of his glamour was unexpected as he directed her with ease and poured her goblet of blood. “Drink, I paid good money for my own cask of timestopped. Olivia says that this came from the finest and most pure faithful servants of Avacyn herself. It has to be worth the small sum I paid.” Before she could react a dour looking man with long hair, that oscillated in waves which moved with the slight tilt of his head silenced both of them with stern glare. For all the blond vampire’s vivacity, his companion was a dour but pretty man who stared listlessly. “It’s the same blood we always have. It’s part of our monthly allowance.” His expression shifted from bored to annoyed and his eyes burned as he tried to read her thoughts. 

Sorin’s rigorous training was finally good for something. Even through the strong effect of the glamour, she managed to block the intrusion. While her focus was weak, it was enough to fend off the unmotivated vampire. “Though, you are more interesting. How did you do that?” Now, he addressed Joanna directly. “What is your name, girl?” he asked softly, trying to encourage the shy neonate. 

She had resisted the glamour but she was not prepared for the truth to leave her mouth so quickly as she replied, “My sire trained me. I am Joanna.” Her honesty surprised her and the suddenly inquisitive vampire stared at with an intensity she almost recognized.

He glanced quickly at his companion who was already impatient. “Philippe, it doesn’t matter. Does it? I wanted to play cards today and win back some of my dignity?” The urging of his friend seemed to distract her interrogator and a weight was lifted from her shoulders as he fixed his attention to the flamboyant blond.  
The dark haired vampire called Philippe laughed bitterly and swept his hand toward his lips in a grand gesture, “First, you’ll never win that back. I know you too well, my love. Second, our new friend has the most subtle psychic energy. She managed to evade my attempt to read her thoughts.” This piqued both vampire’s interest as Philippe continued, “Also, her name sounds familiar? No?” 

The more serious vampire guided his companion thoughts. “The last Markov vampire to possess psychic traits was centuries ago at best, but she looks fresh, untasted.” He spoke with flourish as they cornered her with words. “And well, ‘tis rumored that is the name of the Markov Exile’s progeny. He keeps the little dove locked away. Could it be?” The pair whispered so that she could hear every word as they dissected her. “What do think, Chevalier?”

At his suggestion, the blond vampire, called Chevalier examined her intently. “If it were, what a gift to deposit on our laps? The Lord of Innistrad would most likely reward us. Her generosity would be boundless.” Philippe appeared to disapprove while the other man licked at his lips. Joanna saw the glamour fall, and a degree of monstrosity was exposed beneath the grace of his personage. “Oh, don’t be like that. I’m bound by sacred duty. I’m a Chevalier, a duelist for her Lordship. What are you? A Markov fossil,” he teased. “Like it or not, you’re out of fashion. I don’t care if Sorin is back at court. You know he won’t stay long enough to make a difference.” 

Phillippe openly scoffed now and chided his friend, “My heart, this child is an asset, not a prisoner. Or at least she wouldn't be if Sorin was not holding her hostage.” He moved his focus back to Joanna. 

She was eager but cautious to trust the two vampires who now toyed with her.‘I want to learn more about who I am, the Markov line,” she thought frantically. Knowledge was laid precariously before her. All she needed to do was expose who she was, and her sire.

While her mind raced, Phillipe answered, “Then reveal it dear. We are friends, despite what my lover says. He’s quite the pig and greedy. And do remove your mask. It’s rude to hide yourself from your superiors.” The tone changed from warm and inviting to derisive as the Chevalier giggled at her expense. Her hands moved slowly as the elder vampire commanded her. She reached behind her head and the mask fell from her face. 

Remarkably, no one seemed to notice. The Chevalier raised a delighted brow and commented, “She is pretty. My dear, why hide a lovely face like that? You are simply angelic. Your blood must run so pure, you make the rest of us look like ghouls.” Joanna diverted her gaze. She was raised to piety and modesty, not the garish decadence of vampire court.

In a swift, elegant motion, Philippe lifted her chin and held her gaze. He focused on her intently and his lips quirked into a small, elegant grin. “You are his heir. Of that I have no doubt. But what are his intentions with you? Has he even told you?” Each word felt compelling, and she wanted to answer, but Joanna simply didn’t know.

His fingers fell to the side as she felt tears form in her eyes. The mere thought of his loss shook her and she rushed to tie the mask back around her face, “Nothing. He has no intentions.” She knew it was the truth. It hurt her to the very core. “He will simply leave and expect me to survive,” she muttered. Her hands tied the ribbon quickly into a firm bow and she fixed the mask to her face once more. “Are you both satisfied?” The two vampires, who had relished in toying with the young neonate, were stunned into an uncomfortable silence. 

The Chevalier felt a stab of pity for the girl. She knew so little of her purpose and the lamb was not even a pawn in a game. She merely existed. He smiled reassuringly and dictated brightly, “Sweetheart, let us play a game of cards then. I’m sure your sire is already angry with your absence. You might as well enjoy yourself.” His words were encouraging and despite her fears. she found herself playing her first game of cards in the vampire court

Many vampires chose to engage in the masquerade of Stensia’s elite. They hid behind masks and un-moving smiles. A few of them even chose a serious facade, marked by a frown, but Sorin refused to indulge in such foolish games. He had changed very little since he chose to reside in Stensia, trapping himself in the plane of his birth. He refused to surrender his leather coat, even if he set aside the silver breastplate. He had no true equal here, and no reason to guard himself. Still, his belt weighed less since Sorin had been relieved of the Parasite Blade. He could not bring himself to wield his grandfather’s weapon. The loss felt too keen and rang with contradiction.

Sorin was relieved to be in the privacy of his own chambers. Joanna was gone but he was far too absorbed in his own failings. His line starved due to his actions and failures. One progeny would not change the tide. The few of his line which remained needed guidance, even if it meant the unthinkable: staying on Innistrad. Sorin could not remake Avacyn. He had the powers of a god then, now he was simply a powerful necromancer and sanguinist. But that too could be put to good use. He needed to think, to find a new way to protect his kin. How could he leave Joanna to a world of hunger and want? He paced in his own quarters, knowing the stolid silence would allow him to focus on a planning a way to save his race from starvation. Naturally, as his mind began to turn through calculations and precise spell components, the door to his study was pushed aside.

He smelled Olivia before she passed the threshold and he curled his lip in anger. Sorin was in no mood for her mockery. Not that he truly knew what he wanted. “Sorin,” she whispered. Her voice was vulnerable and subdued as she approached him. He stilled at the coo, as if she were anyone but Olivia Voldaren. He did not trust it, or her, but her fingers seemed tender as she removed the coat from his broad shoulders. It would have been heavy for a mortal woman, but with adept grace it fell from his torso as he allowed her actions. 

The air seemed electric with potential as Olivia coaxed Sorin away from the desk. She turned him with surprising ease, as he did not resist her. “Olivia,” he grumbled, searching her expression for any imparted knowledge. “We ought to talk,” he said gruffly. Her lip lifted in a demure smile that looked strange on her normally proud features. 

Olivia held his hands, careful not to prick them with her manicured claws and kissed his fingers. “No,” she answered, determined but gentle. He was transfixed by her presence, yet she looked decidedly ordinary. Normally, she beguiled him with a glamour and artifice, but none of that remained as she connected his waiting lips with entreating kiss. He had no defense for honesty, nor could he combat the earnest way she asked him without words to surrender. It reminded him of feeling human as she seduced him with a devout kiss.

Slowly, Sorin was drawn in as his hands explored the subtle curve of her waist and barely brushed against chest. He paused and spent a long, breathless moment admiring the slight flutter of her eyelashes before he kissed her back. This is madness, Sorin attempted to reason but the temptation was too pure as he got lost in the emotions. While Olivia was consummate actress this was no game as she slowly enticed feelings he thought forever lost.

Somehow, between her tempting kisses, he found his capacity to question. “Olivia, please,” he whispered. His breath was ragged as her lips parted begging him to capitulate. “There’s...” One of her fangs nicked Sorin’s lip and she liked the blood from it, shuddering in ecstasy. 

His blood, as always was divine, marked by a surreal lightness. “ Why should we talk?” she knew Sorin was tempted. She could smell it in the blood she tasted, “What is there to say that we cannot express in other ways?” Her fingers were swift and exacting. Olivia applied the most gentle pressure along his throat and scraped the skin of his neck. Her claws broke the skin and blood dripped from the wounds that circled the flesh. Sorin should resist her. He knew better, but Olivia offered him a release that no other being could. He felt alive when she touched him, and it was more satisfying than the purest blood lust.

She breathed, before spinning in his arms, like a dancer. Without pause, Sorin followed her lead as the refrain of an ancient melody sounded between them. It was a haunting memory that Sorin could not forget, no matter how he tried. The satin of her gown was seductive in it’s own right and Sorin did not care to resist as she kissed him. He was enraptured by the feel of her lips, brushing against his own inviting him to further devastation. Sorin did not care. The endless game seemed irrelevant as tasted her earnest desire in the playfulness of her tongue as she invited his mouth to part. He breathed, claiming more of her as he cupped her face delicately, directing her with guiding caresses up her jawline while he threaded his fingers through her elegant red hair. It was curly and wild as he released it and tightened his fingers around the strands. 

If Olivia was surrendering, Sorin elected to follow her into the same foolish abandon. She sensed him capitulate as he gave into a desperate affection that was never allowed to breathe until this moment. Normally, Olivia would have torn his clothing to see him bleed and force him to the bed, teasing and tormenting him until he was undone, but did not engage the aggressive fantasy. Instead, she took a graceful step away and gazed at him sincerely. Her hand was extended to him, her fingers curled delicately into a open palm as she offered herself. 

Sorin smiled, like a lover with the barest hint of fang showing as he followed her, catching her hand as she pulled him toward her bed. Olivia was entirely bewitching, distinct from the rest as her wiles enticed him from sense. He knew how she ravished senses and distracted the mind. He fought briefly against the enchantment, but her skin felt so ideal beneath his fingers as his hands clutched her greedily. 

It was like a memory he could not relinquish as he settled on top of her, her legs enticed to open wider yet as he caressed the inside of her thigh, toward the center of her core where her warmth waited for him. “I have loved you, more than I should,” Sorin confessed, his words were severe but the tone in his voice was artless and heartfelt. He sounded young, unburdened as he kissed her once more. They were small pecks at first, tender and teasing, then he smirked as she breathed. Her hands twitched against his neck, trying for more as she wanted nothing else but him. 

Sorin denied her as he waited for a reply. If Olivia said nothing, Sorin wondered whether these words were a waste and his feelings came from a font of nothing. Instead, she smile, “In a thousand years,” she looked startled, unsure. “I have always wanted to hear that.” She stared into his gaze, trying to read the expression on his face. Sorin caressed her face with a gentle smile and dropped his head, brushing his lips against her own a tender, giving kiss. “It was never a lie,” Olivia whispered against the timidity of his affection. She almost choked on the words, as they sounded foreign to her. However, nothing about this was ordinary.

Olivia shuddered at the innate compassion of his affection, in all that she had known it was so unlike Sorin as he softly kissed her. He could smell the heat of her desire for him and could not help but laugh as she struggled to free herself from the gown that clung to her skin with such tantalizing appeal. “Allow me,” Sorin whispered beneath her ear as he kissed the skin of her neck, nicking it precisely with his teeth. He grinned at her reaction, the uncharacteristic silence as he felt her nod. He lifted himself as he settled above her and brushed the hair from her face.

The flimsy fabric of her gown was nothing for his claws. Regardless he removed the clothing with a sensual caution. He found a seam the side and sliced before he peeled the dress from her skin. There was nothing to rush, Sorin had all the time in the world as her beauty was unfolded to him and revealed the gleaming ivory of her skin. There was no blemish on it and Sorin caught himself breathless, struck by the simplicity of affection as he admired he lean muscle and soft curves of Olivia Voldaren. An excuse could be made for lust, but to desire someone without guile was a strange, bewitching sensation. Sorin was helpless to it’s allure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please read! If you enjoyed, please comment. If you have any criticism also comment. Artists crave any kind of feedback. I will also accept cheese.


	7. Let This Moment Be the First Chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: This chapter has extreme violence and suicidal behavoir.

Chapter 7:  
Let This Moment Be The First Chapter

“Black as the devil, hot as hell, pure as an angel, sweet as love.” Charles Maurice de Talleyrand

At first, defiance was such a simple act. Joanna had spent months locked away, imagining the vampire court in all it’s infamous decadence. Sorin reminded her, whenever she asked about Olivia’s mansion, that all other vampires were savages who pretended to be civilized by hiding behind gilded masks and elegant silk. “We are predators,” Sorin always emphasized, “Do not allow the wasteful luxuries of court to trick you. It is all a ruse to permit Olivia to deny your greater purpose.” Perhaps, he was correct. As she gambled with Philippe and the Chevalier, the blood tasted sweeter and she was more inclined to indulge her senses. It astonished Joanna that neither her parents nor Sorin had told her she had the right to enjoy herself. Suddenly, she was happy, but her maker was so forbidding, a mountain moved by nothing. Not the wind, nor pity could make him understand why she needed more than just him. Her life as a human was so distant now, like a faint memory that played in her thoughts. And yet, she was happy despite the deep fear of her maker.

Perhaps it was the extra lightness in her step, the fragrant tincture of the blood, or the feeling of happiness that gave her damned soul wings, but she did not feel Sorin’s presence. Even though she approached the corridor that led to their shared chambers. Lately, he seemed distant and absent. In truth, he was anywhere but here and Joanna thought her luck might be turning for the better. He was likely indulging his own vices with Olivia, pretending he was so mighty while he allowed the Lord of Innistrad to control him. At least that was how the Chevalier described it while Philippe rolled his eyes at the implication of his subservience. In any case, Joanna hoped she could simply sneak in with Sorin none the wiser.

As she reached the false panel on the wall she tripped the lever and it quietly opened. Joanna sighed in relief as she slipped through the panel. Her steps were quick and quiet. She shut her eyes, squinting them tightly together before opening the false panel in the wall. As it closed behind her, Sorin revealed himself. His presence was larger than all of Innistrad and her body went rigid with shock. Each muscle was paralyzed by fear, and commanded through powerful necromancy as she tripped over her own feet. 

Within moments,Sorin manipulated Joanna as if she were a puppet. He dominated the fringes of her thoughts and twisted the blood in her veins like taut, cruel strings. The spell invaded each private corner of her mind and kept her from blinking as she watched him grow in stature. He was more than she could comprehend as he glowed with purple energy that slowly began to unmake her. “Was it so hard to obey me,” Sorin mourned. His voice was a whisper, but it was all she could hear as he unraveled the profane magic that held her together. First, the magic overpowered her and caused unrelenting agony to twist through her strangled blood. “I begged you to listen to me, but you deliberately disobeyed me. Tell me, was the den of asps worth this pain?” Sorin demanded her absolute attention as red tears leaked from her eyes and onto her cheeks while her soul burned from his scrutiny.

Her maker imprinted more of his power on her, and fell limp in the enchantment. Part of her wanted to fold, but Joanna refused and stood firm, “Yes. Every bit of it. You could destroy me just like Avacyn and I still wouldn’t regret it.” The necromancy that surged through her veins created a true sense of dread. She knew Sorin was capable of unmaking her and she wept as she confronted him. “You hate yourself so much that you punish me for you’ve done. I deserve better than you,” she bit. Her voice was desperate with rage with as she fought to break free of his enchantment. Sorin sneered, his face twisted at her implication. Images of Avacyn’s destruction flashed in his mind, the part of him that was held in her life extinguished. Now, he felt the pain he caused Joanna and it caused him to doubt his anger. Why was he so livid? What was worse: her accusatory words or that she was that she was right? The grip he held over her grew loose while he questioned his own motives.

Joanna sensed his hold weakening. It was enough, she hoped to break herself free of his wrath. His steps shook the floor as he approached the restrained neonate and dominated her attention. His golden eyes burned into her thoughts as he asserted a pressure that left her mind blank. Regardless, she felt an instinctive focus rise in her as she tried to fight the sangromancy that held her captive. Her body still shook, taken by tremors. She had endured a small shard of his power and still lived. “And if I am punishing you?” Sorin pondered aloud, his stride reflected little purpose as he walked away.

Joanna shut her eyes, gathering all the life force she could muster while he seemed to mourn a thousand memories. Sorin could have released the spell at any moment, but he refused. She clutched at her essence finding a way to turn the enchantment that threatened to rend her limb from limb. The agony was unrelenting as she found a way to redirect the spell and her use her basic essence as an attack. Her body contorted gracelessly as she forced it from her core and tore from her soul through her limbs. Sorin easily deflected the psychic attack and Joanna’s body collapsed in a heap on the floor.

For a few long moments, she lay there un-moving as he watched, stunned at her newfound strength. Slowly, her energy returned while Sorin approached with a delicate caution. Her essence still pulsed with necromancy energy. He grew worried as she did not move or react. Had she killed herself simply to defy him? He had no idea she was so desperate to be free of him that she would harm herself to escape his control. Was there nothing he cared for that Sorin could not destroy?

Even though Joanna’s thoughts were dim and fuzzy. Her head pounded from the entire ordeal and she gingerly gathered her composure while she forced herself to move once more. Her gait was unsteady but determined as she responded,“How am I supposed to trust you again?” Joanna tried to conceal the tremor in her voice. It was a feeble attempt, but she struggled to cope regardless of the fear that transformed her entire body.

Even though Sorin only addressed her abstractly, he glanced towards Joanna and almost smiled at her. It seemed out of place after the violence she endured before and she thought to outright flee as she sensed his emotion’s flare once more. She was clueless, scared and a prisoner of her own frailty as he approached her again. Sorin was not bereft of weapons as he pulsed with power and her blood almost sought him out with a desperation. Her body betrayed her as he called on the power of their bond to pacify her. She felt the need to be obedient and was torn between wanting to please him and a deep desire to run away. Joanna found her back was forced against the wall and listened helplessly, “You seem to know me so well, child.” He only sounded kind, “What, in your wisdom, do you propose?” Joanna felt the deep urge to cry and tried to evade his grasp. As he went to touch her, Joanna found a shred of aggression in her bones and shoved him away. Her claws dug into the flesh at his shoulder and tore through his fine shirt while she defended herself. Sorin was staggered by her direct violence. She darted away from him and hissed while Sorin recovered. He wasn’t so much injured, but shocked as she fought him once more. He smelled the blood and found her courage refreshing. Maybe he had sheltered her too much and she needed to defend herself. She hovered above the ground and guarded herself from any physical attack.

Joanna did not expect the surge of energy that forced her to the ground. The sensation of his magic weighed down her limbs, like stone that pulled her to the floor below. He saw the fight and tenacity in his progeny. Sorin’s eyes gleamed with pride toward his progeny as the color returned to her pallid skin. “You aren’t meant to understand my burden,” he finally answered her. How was she meant to understand what he had spent lifetimes trying to comprehend? His relationship with Innistrad was complex and difficult. One that the presence of a mere neonate, even his own progeny could not repair. 

He had no true answer for the Joanna. Instead he spoke reassuringly, in an attempt to calm the frightened child, “ You were meant to be better than me. A beacon of the Markov line.” She stood tentatively, “You could not resist the glamorous allure of the life before you. Perhaps I failed you as well, but you won’t need to worry about my cruelty anymore.” Sorin leaned against the mantle and watched the sympathetic fire lick at logs that it never consumed.

He was the ideal picture of aristocratic restraint. Even though his clothes were savagely torn, shredded by her own claws and blood seeped from the wounds they left. Sorin’s demeanor was calm and measured, while Joanna was a desperate picture of youthful fury. He admired the spacious chamber with a studied glare and realized he would miss Innistrad after all. Joanna stayed in his peripheral vision, her claws still drawn. Her hair was out of the bun that kept it out of her face and floated around her in lawless pattern. The fight had taken a lot out of her and she looked worse for it. Her skin was drawn and haggard. “I...don’t understand,” Joanna confessed. “I’ve done nothing wrong,” she defended herself. She watched him warily in attempt to understand his intentions. Fear and love at times did not feel so different.

The elder vampire knew she deserved an explanation. “I’ve taught you all that I can,” Sorin beckoned her closer. This time she did not resist him. In truth the fight was gone, if Joanna drew anymore of her essence it could kill her. “I can’t hold you captive any longer as you are so fond of saying. There is nothing more I can teach you.” He thought to sever the bond, but decided against it. Sorin looked down at the girl with a benevolent expression and brushed the moisture from her cheek. The blood painted vivid pattern against her skin. If he ever return to Innistrad, he would want to find her again. 

Joanna leaned into his touch, his fingers were surprisingly gentle and the gesture felt loving and tender. In truth, she was starved for such affection and her prior hesitation was forgotten. His lips felt soft against her forehead as he attempted to soothe her dismay. “Anything else you must learn on your own. You may stay in these quarters, and do as you like with the but my purpose lies elsewhere. I will be gone.” Then, Sorin released her shoulders with a bittersweet sadness. 

Even though she knew that he would leave her, Joanna did not expect to miss him. She felt faint and unsure as Sorin’s hands left her shoulders. “Why can’t I go with you? Do you no longer want me?” She inquired quietly. The look on Sorin’s face reminded her of the way her parents’ used to look at her when there was something she was not supposed to know. “I know that look. There is a reason but you won’t tell me. Why?” she demanded.

He hesitated before he answered, “I am not bound to this world, as you are. I can and must leave. It is my deepest regret that I cannot take you with me child, but even the multiverse has laws.” Joanna’s head was spinning, or perhaps the room was unstable. Suddenly, her legs felt weak and unsteady as she locked her knees and focused her energies.

Sorin saw the flutter in her eyelashes before she collapsed and attempted to catch Joanna as she fell. She clung to life desperately and he cursed himself. She had exerted too much and nearly drained herself of the magic that kept her alive alive. Deftly, Sorin caught her and cradled the exhausted Joanna in his arms. With a desperate haste, he tore open his wrist and forced her to feed. She was slow to respond at first, then her mouth clung to his wrist with a savage ferocity.

Nursing her was second nature now. Sorin carried her carefully, his gaze both intimate and concerned as her life force fluctuated dangerously. “My revenge is delayed,” Sorin thought aloud. He felt a peaceful contentment in his mind as her color and complexion began to return. He carefully set her on the chamber bed and brushed the hair from her face. Joanna needed his care more than Nahiri needed to be destroyed. His rebellious apprentice could wait, she literally had lifetimes. Sorin needed to know that his only remaining legacy to Innistrad would survive.

It had been weeks since Victoria had seen Joanna. In truth she was anxious. Sorin had taken command of the few freedom’s she had and insisted upon a more focused training. She missed the young vampire and recalled with exacting precision the way her fingers felt when they threaded through her own. The candle light painted her face with most becoming shadows and, in those moments,Victoria realized she would do anything for her. However, in Joanna’s absence, she basked in the fictional romance and curled further into the plush armchair.

As she fantasized, recalling those memories she heard the passage door open and reveal the heavy steps, masculine steps. They belonged to an elder vampire and her impeccable sense of smell allowed her to identify them. She guarded herself immediately and extended her claws reflexively. Sorin spoke without any malice as he observed the bookshelves that extended to the ceiling in the disused room. “You know Olivia never struck me as the type to read, even when we were humans.” He walked with purpose to where she sat and demanded, “I need something from you, and I do not wish to explain it to you more than once. Follow me.” His presence was inherently commanding as he was surrounded by an aura of authority. 

Despite his powerful presence, Sorin looked unguarded and even concerned as he approached the younger vampire and extended a hand to aid her. “The library was a farcical idea, but it was a gift to me. I was very lonely.” She had no idea why she was confessing this to him and glared at his hand with suspicion. Victoria clutched the novel to her chest and stood from the chair. “What is it that you need?” she inquired. She was still suspect of his motives and did not take his offered hand.

Victoria could have sworn that he was embarrassed by his refusal. He pulled his hand back hesitantly and his movements lacked any obvious confidence. Sorin’s posture grew more relaxed for a moment before he straightened his body and put his hands behind his back. “Joanna is unwell. She needs more than me in her life, she needs you,” he admitted. The confession caught Victoria by surprise and she struggled to find the right words. Sorin continued to speak, “I do not ask you for this as a favor, I demand it as her maker. I cannot give her what she needs.” He was somewhere between begging and demanding and his tone was confused.

Despite her caution, Victoria knew she could trust him. Joanna was his daughter and he cared for her. She was at least certain of that much and responded, “For her I would do anything.” Sorin was relieved he would not have to manipulate her as well. 

He smirked at her devotion and answered, “Good. I will hold you to that.” His voice was firm with intent. Victoria had no idea what to expect, but whatever task he had, she would not fail him. She loved Joanna and if she was needed as he said, Victoria would comply. There was nothing more important in all of Innistrad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this still. This series is overall about two years old and I am hoping to finish it by January 2019. Please comment, kudos, anything really. Artists and writers love feedback.


	8. Between the Sinners and the Saints

“It has often been our best instincts, not our worst, that have led us to do harm in the world.” ― Rosa Brooks

_Stensia was far away now. A distant memory as Joanna lingered on a vivid dream. She awoke to the rosy-fingered dawn that filled the sky with light. Outside her the glass panes of her window, she heard the street noises of Thraben. The pious chanted to Avacyn, saying their morning devotions and the squeaking of cart wheels along the lane. She was not supposed to be here. Thraben was in ruins and she was a vampire, trapped in the sunless twilight of the inner-continent. However, light filtered through the curtains of her bedroom window and she was most certainly home, as she remembered it. “This must be a dream. I didn’t think vampires dreamed,” Joana remarked aloud. “Maybe, I’m finally dead. Dead, dead,” she considered._

_Shaking her limbs, Joana was determined to get out of bed and find out why she was human and in her parent’s home. The mirror was little more than metal, covered in alchemical silver and polished into a sleek surface. It was wise to have silver in the home, she remembered. She clutched at a silver necklace adorned with the symbol of Avacyn. A bright circle, framed with the outline of wings. The looking glass revealed a plain girl with cool brown hair. There were subtle undertones of blond and red, but the growing morning light gave her false hues. The greatest shock were her eyes, the soft brown, interspersed with freckles of green. She was used to seeing the eyes of a vampire, like glowing lights that both fascinated and horrified her._

_Each detail was perfect, if not a bit too perfect as she felt the floor vibrate. Unconsciously, Joana guarded herself as the door was flung open. Cassie! She breathed, and rushed to her sister. She gathered the smaller girl in her arms and embraced her. The younger girl wriggled away, her lithe frame made her slippery as she eluded her older sister’s grasp._

_Astonishingly, she giggled, “Jo! What are you doing? It’s like you’ve haven’t seen me in years.” Cassie observed her shocked expression and approached her with bemused caution. Joana didn’t care and held her close again. She breathed in the scent of her hair and absorbed each sensory detail. When she woke she wanted to remember her beloved sister. Eventually, the younger girl calmed down and allowed her sister to hold her. Joana lost herself in the embrace, these memories had been all but forgotten. Cassie smelled like the spring wild flowers, untouched by the corruption of Innistrad. She was pure beauty and joy and Joanna never let her go again._

_Joana spun Cassie in her arms and kissed both her cheeks. “It has been an age, or at least it feels like one. I missed you, Sis,” she sung affectionately. Holding her little sister again made this all worth it. Even if she was dying._

_Cassandra shook her head, and her golden curls lit up the room around her. “Okay. I’m going to pretend your not touched.” Her tone was placating and offered a respite Joana now recalled with perfect clarity. Even if this wasn’t real she was a vampire now ,she wanted to treasure every moment that she shared with even the specter of her beloved sister._  
\----------

Victoria was incapable of hiding her anxiousness and dread. It was strange enough that Sorin needed her, but even worse that Joana was in danger. Instinct stole her reflexes and she rushed to the Joana’s side. She did not have time to reflect on the cause of her frighteningly grey skin or the dimness of her aura. She was simply at rest, as if interred. Victoria wanted it to be a nightmare as the manifestation of her worst fear came into being, Joana was as quiet as a corpse and it was as if her will to live simply no longer existed.

She examined the un-moving body and saw hints of violence. Her skin was bruised and as it was beginning to heal Victoria observed the portrait of a struggle. She could still smell the necromancy that had ravaged Joana. It was imprinted on her limbs. Whatever happened to his progeny, her soul must have borne the greatest wounds. The damage began at her chest, where her mortal heart should be and the blood ran in black veins from the center. The enchantment smelled of decay, and it lingered in her veins. While she was forged by the same magic that made vampires, it was somehow wrong now. 

Victoria’s alabaster skin was painted by imperceptible traces of magic and she looked as if she were made of porcelain. Her features were set in stone, but she wanted to rage against Sorin. Only the spell of a powerful necromancy could cause such caustic decay and among his many faults, the elder vampire was a master at murdering his own kind. No ordinary magic could save her, the only vampire strong enough to aid her was Olivia. Furthermore, Sorin knew it. Victoria scornfully laughed, ‘Coward,’ she maligned. ‘ He knows I love her and is counting on me to go to Olivia. Damn his pride.’ She cursed him, despite how little her opinion meant to him.

As if Victoria summoned him with her thoughts, Sorin returned to the room where Joana’s life lay in a delicate balance. Sorin was deeply conflicted. He was vulnerable, even genuine as he asked, “Can you help her?” His voice was as soft as she had ever heard it. He barely spoke above a whisper. 

Victoria’s temper simmered, stirring passions that threatened to burst from her skin. she tried to hold it in, knowing that any anger she betrayed would only expose her to his cruelty. However, there were more important issues at stake.She clasped Joana’s hand in desperation and kissed her fingers with the utmost care. Still, her dearest friend did not acknowledge the gesture. ‘Consequences be damned,’ she realized. While hating Sorin would not bring her back, Victoria would feel satisfaction. She wanted him exposed, just to watch him bleed. It was the least he deserved. “How dare you,” she said softly at first. The accusation was delivered with a sharp hiss, “You did this to her, and you don’t even have the courage to own it!” She promised herself she wouldn’t cry, but the tears came regardless of her wishes.

Sorin acted as if he was above her words. Inflection was frustratingly absent from his voice as he responded simply, “I did.” He paused, the words stuck in his throat and hovered in the air between he and Victoria like a curse. It dared her to attack. “I was thoughtless in my anger and when she dies it will not be the first thing that I have destroyed,” he admitted. There was no other explanation he could offer. Victoria approached Sorin cautiously as he grieved. The lines on his face revealed a true sadness, but she could not trust it.

Victoria did not want to believe him. He was not weak, but the embodiment of blind pride. Her claws extended as she discerned an emotion so deep within herself that it caught her off guard. She wanted Sorin to fight back, to deny hear words, and bear his fangs. Then she could hate him properly. How could she do anything but pity him now? His head hung in morose acceptance and eyes cast down in shame. He did not deserve sympathy any more than Joana deserved his abuse. Reflexively she slapped him and the sharp points of her claws dug into his face as he lifted his head to face the younger vampire. She marked him without mercy and intentionally scarred his perfect features. He ought to look like the monster he was and had no right to enjoy the graceful, stolen beauty of their profane boon. 

At any moment she expected physical retaliation, but nothing came. He was vexing as he merely accepted punishment and allowed Victoria to slap him. Her eyes were cold and fierce as she stated, “My mistress may be able to restore her health.” Sorin nodded silently and his mouth quirked into a strange smile. He almost laughed at the notion and she observed his dark amusement. This was the elder vampire that she expected, a vile and selfish ancient that had no regard for anything but himself. She was almost relieved. “I assume that you are too much of a coward to lower yourself and ask her for a favor so dear,” she accused, her tone bitter but justified. You would let her die before you hurt your own pride.” Sorin did not comment as Victoria knelt by Joana once more and her gaze focused on the fledgling as she faded. His face had healed, but the cheek that she struck was still wet with the blood that she had drawn. 

There was little more to say. He thought to comment, but hesitated. Victoria was right. Each word struck him like an arrow of pure silver. Sorin felt the weight of every mistake, his shoulders slumped and he chose not to defend himself. First, there was Nahiri. He locked her away for a minor infraction, for simply annoying him. Avacyn was dead by his own hand. He unraveled his own creation and a part of himself had died that day. Now, Joana, his progeny would perish and he only had himself to blame. He didn’t make a sound. For once in his ageless life, he was defenseless to her attacks. “Will you intercede on my behalf?” Sorin asked weakly. He spoke faintly and with a delicacy that Victoria did not expect. 

Her anger subsided as he asked a favor from her, a simple Voldaren vampire who was only a few hundred years old. Perhaps she had misjudged him. It may not be pride that stopped him, but concern for Joana if he went to Olivia directly. “You honestly have to ask,” she chided him as if he were a child. “I will not let her die without a fight, “ Victoria assured Sorin with a newfound confidence. Her eyes were as keen as daggers as she stood from Joana’s side and glared at the elder vampire. He did not shy away from her, and accepted the challenge as an uneasy truce was brokered. “Whatever sins you have committed, Sorin Markov, Joana is innocent. She is not guilty of your crimes,” Victoria declared.

Relief flooded his features and Sorin bowed his head to thank her. The gaunt lines of his face haunted her as he began to shift out of existence. His body was bathed in a golden light and his physical form began to fade into the unknown. It only took a few second, but it was as if he simply vanished from sight, leaving behind wisps of glittering air. “Sorin?” she asked, clutching the empty space that he had just inhabited moments ago. “Nothing,” Victoria remarked, perplexed at his sudden absence. “He’s gone?” she reasoned quietly. Suddenly, her anger was forgotten in the face of a much greater mystery.

The chambers seemed so much larger now that Sorin was gone. Victoria sighed and brushed her claws through her black hair before pulling it back into a knot at the base of her skull. Then she returned to Joana’s side and kissed her hand reverently. “I hope you can hear me, love. You cannot die. I will not allow it,” her voice dropped to a whisper as she brushed aside a few strands of hair and caressed her cheek. “I love you, and I promised to take care of you. I can’t do that if you die now.” She pleaded with the fates to protect Joana, that she would hold on as long as she could.

\-----

_The sun on her skin was a blessing as Joana tended the garden with her sister. The sun’s warmth was an all but forgotten luxury, as was the feeling of earth between one’s fingers. This fantasy world existed in the never-ending golden light of dawn, and she was just fine with that knowledge. “You can’t stay here,” Cassie said abruptly. The vision began to waver and time shifted._

_Suddenly the sunlight garden was replaced with the cellar and Joana held Cassie close. “We have to. Mother told us to stay below until Thraben was safe,” she explained. Her sister looked pale now, and the bare sliver of moonlight that was revealed by the gap in the cellar door was the only light they had. Cassandra’s head burned with a fever, and Joana knew where they were. ‘This is Thraben, during the attack,’ she realized._

_Cassie’s bright lips were chapped as the skin of water fell from her weak fingers and she coughed. “I’m dying, sis...you need this more,” she insisted. Joana shook her head and denied it. She had no desire to relive this moment, why was the vision showing her this? She wanted to wake up now, pull herself from whatever demon claimed her dreams._

_This was her worst memory. When her sister died in that cellar as the fighting roared above them. They waited here for a week as the battle raged, in hiding as they waited for the storm to pass. “You’re not dying, “ Joana’s voice cracked as she stubbornly held her sister, “I promised mother I would keep you safe.” She fought the urge to cry and showed no weakness. Instead, Joana shut her eyes and wished for this moment to pass. She wanted to be a vampire again, anything to escape this memory_

\----

Olivia Voldaren knew it was too good to last. Sorin always left, it was merely a question of when and what drove him away from his home once more. And, again, she was the fool for believing him. “Silly girl,” she derided herself. However, there was no time for remorse. Olivia was the undisputed Lord of Innistrad once more. A delicate smile danced her lips. The same bright red hair that Sorin had tangled his fingers in desperate passion was now carefully set into elaborate plats. If the Markov Exile had taught her one thing, she could not rule by games alone. The theater of leadership needed a firm hand to guide it, and Olivia had to give up her courtly games in favor of a more austere image. “Another mask,” she considered whimsically.

Victoria was diligent as she threaded her mistresses’ tresses into an elaborate crown of hair. Each gem had been placed carefully, and Olivia was determined to exude wealth. None would be permitted to question her. Her dalliance with Sorin made Olivia forget, but Stensia was the undead heart of Innistrad. She was done playing queen to a court of cats, she would rule Stensia in iron and the rest of Innistrad in blood. 

The girl, his unfortunate progeny was now under her command as well. Sorin drove the unconscious child into her arms, but somehow she knew it was his design from the start. Victoria’s fingers slipped. It was uncharacteristic, but Olivia knew better. She was devoted to Joana, heart and soul. “My heart, go and tend to her. I can finish the rest myself,” Olivia suggested kindly.

Slowly, Joana’s complexion returned, but would be hours yet before the girl awoke from her forced sleep. “Mistress,” Victoria asked cautiously, her expression both curious and frightened, “What precisely is Sorin Markov?” Her inquisitive nature compelled her, as did his mysterious escape.

Olivia’s narrow shoulders were draped with a red robe, marked by a gilded glow and bright like fire. Her eyes traced the intricate stonework until her eyes settled on the Parasite Blade. In all his time, Sorin had never claimed it and he could have. He would be back. “He is more,” she answered, “Kissed by a magic that is beyond any of us.” Olivia shuddered. Still she could feel his lips on hers, the demanding want and his strained confession.

The younger vampire raised a brow in skeptic doubt. “More? I don’t understand. Is he like a God? An Angel?” Olivia’s voice was raised in a proud laugh as she approached her new ward and she admired the resting neonate’s fine features. She was truly a rose among thorns. Sorin would return for this too, but arrive to find both taken from him. Victoria threaded her fingers through Joana’s still hands and looked up to her mistress who floated gracefully.

The mirth on Olivia’s face was genuine as she shored her position in Stensia, “My dove, Sorin may be powerful, few things can tether him. But once you know someone’s heart, they are no longer divine.” She smirked as she surveyed what fortune had bountifully provided once more. Victoria nodded thoughtfully before she returned her attention to Joan, praying to a goddess she had long forgotten that Joana would awaken.

_Fine_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My friends, this is the end. I love this story. It has taken two years to perfect and this just feels right. Thank you so much for reading and I sincerely hope that you enjoyed it. If I have done nothing else it is answer for what MTG writers did to my favorite plane and beloved planeswalker, Sorin Markov.
> 
> If you have any comments or praise, or any questions for me, I will be more than happy to answer.


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